u/amoveChina

The last two lines of Liu Changqing's "Lodging in the Snow at the Home of the Hibiscus Mountain Master."

Dusk, distant hills, a cold sky, a bare cottage. Then a dog at the brushwood gate. The poem never opens the door. No face, no fire, no greeting. It decides the bark is enough: someone is coming home through the snow.

日暮蒼山遠

天寒白屋貧

柴門聞犬吠

風雪夜帰人

Dusk, and the green hills run far.

The sky is cold; the white cottage is poor.

At the brushwood gate, a dog barks —

a person returns through wind and snow.

Do you hear the traveler arriving, or the house that was waiting?

時を越え、空を仰ぎ、ひとり佇む。
天地の悠久に比ぶれば、わが生は一瞬のうたかた。
言葉にできぬ孤独が胸を突き、知らず涙の零れ落ちる。
果てなき闇のただ中で、私は何を求めて哭くのだろう。